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I respond quickly:Queens. You up?

Wanted to check something out. I’m nearby.

I tap in the address, swinging open the door. May as well kill time while I wait for Ero.

Running a hand along some of the silk and tooled lace. Wonder what it would be like to have a normal life? Prom. Coming of age party, dancing.

What little I remember about my upbringing guarantees I didn’t have any of it. A wedding on the other hand…

Photos in a box under a bed in an abandoned house told me I had one. With him. I can almost remember the ceremony if I try really hard.

“Hi! Can I help you?” A puff of ponytail pops out from behind a mannequin.

I’m reaching for a knife, stopping short as I remind myself that this is the normal world. Normal people. Don’t want to scare the shit out of her and get the cops called. Or murder her.

“Um, no. I was just killing time?—”

“Sandy! Is that a client?!”

“Not one for you Peggy! Go on your lunch break!”

“You’re a goddamn tyrant Sandra Antonia!”

“And you’re a leech, Margaret Marie!” Sanda barks toward the back room. “Sorry about that. Family employees. The. Worst.”

“It’s fine?—”

“Holy shit! Your. Hair. Is. Divine.” The woman exclaims as she slams down several rolls of fabric on a table almost invisible in the chaos. She dusts her hands off, cracking her neck to one side. She’s prissy, but clearly doesn’t mind hard work.

“Thanks.” Not used to getting compliments.

“No, seriously! You look like a fucking Olympian goddess!” She’s around the room faster than I can blink, looking me up and down.

“Not bad looking yourself. What product do you use to get it to do that?”

“It’s called Italian blood. Phenomenal for wavy curls. Terrible for thunder thighs.”

“I feel like I work out constantly just so I can eat bread.” Who am I? Talking about girly shit.

“Chocolate. Pasta. Why does food have to be so damned…consequential?”

I’m laughing despite myself, disarmed by her candor. Something about the tilt of her hips, her sassy attitude. “I could survive on a steady diet of buttered toast.”

“Don’t tempt me. I’m Sandra, by the way.” She offers her hand.

“Circe.”

“I love it. Is there anything about you that isn’t gorgeous?” Sandra takes a step to my left, circles me, pulling my hair back a bit. “Ugh. You’ve got amazing collarbones. Halter top for sure, corseted, full trail. No veil, but we could cinch your hair here, leave a few curls out like this…”

I’m frozen in place, watching her work in the mirror across from me. What the hell is happening right now?

“Such classic beauty. You’re Greek, right? That skin is absolutely Mediterranean.”

“I-I am, actually,” I stutter.

“Aw fuck. I got all caught up in my bullshit again. Forgive me.”

“No, it’s fine. I appreciate your enthusiasm. I was honestly just looking for an old family friend. I think they used to have a business here a long time ago.”